What If
by japaneset
Summary: Set at the end of the first book. How might their relationship have changed, if only Harry had decided to say a few well-deserved words to Snape? One-shot. Non-slash. Possibly OOC. Would change the entire course of the HP series...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: At the end of the first book, Harry finds out that Snape had been trying to protect him and the Philosopher's Stone. What if... Harry had gone to Snape, before he left Hogwarts for the summer, to say a few simple words?

* * *

"Please, Madam Pomfrey, I need to see Professor Snape!" Harry begged.

"You'll see him at the end of term feast tonight! Isn't that soon enough?" she replied.

"No, I need to talk to him, alone! I have to... thank him. For saving my life."

She looked up sharply at Harry.

"He did, did he?"

Harry nodded slowly, still in shock from the many new pieces of information that had been thrown at him in the past few days. His head was also threatening to hurt again.

"Yes. He... during that Quidditch match, when I almost fell off my broom... Quirrell was putting a curse on my broom, but Snape -- _Professor_ Snape," he corrected himself, "was saying the countercurse. If he hadn't, I... I might have fallen. I could have died!"

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. She took any threat to a student as a personal affront.

"Well... I suppose..."

"_Please_, Madam Pomfrey!"

She nodded curtly.

"All right, then. But you must not exert yourself! Do you promise?!"

Harry nodded again, somewhat more vigorously. "I promise!"

Madam Pomfrey went to her office and brought back Harry's clothes.

"I'm glad to hear that Professor Snape has finally gotten over the bad blood, between him and your father! It was childish, really, but he _is_ a teacher at Hogwarts now, after all..."

Harry stopped unbuttoning his pyjamas as her muttered words sank into his brain.

"You... You knew... my _dad_?!"

"Of course!" Her eyebrows arched in exasperation. "James Potter was in here more times than I care to recount, with Quidditch injuries or some such! And Severus, too, with hare-brained hexes inflicted by your father or one of his friends!"

Harry gaped at her in shock and disbelief.

"My dad... put _hexes_ on Snape?!"

She nodded grimly.

"Yes, and I hope you are not about to follow in his footsteps! Just for being in different houses, they were constantly at each other, hexing and jinxing! Personally, I thought it rather un-Gryffindor-like for your father and his cronies to all go after Severus, who was usually alone -- though not defenseless! Oh, yes, he knew some nasty jinxes -- curses, more like -- and would use them if they so much as threatened him..."

Harry felt sick to his stomach, and did not hear much more of Madam Pomfrey's ramblings. Dumbledore had said that his father and Snape's relationship was much like that of himself and Draco Malfoy, but to think that his father had actually _attacked_ Snape was horrible, untenable -- he felt as though a black serpent were coiling around his heart, squeezing it. He had already been feeling guilty about wrongfully suspecting Snape of attempting to steal the Philosopher's Stone, but now, to know that his father had been Snape's enemy and that he had saved Harry's life in _spite_ of it, made his own assumptions seem even more petty and small-minded.

"But he _has_ been really nasty to me in class," he thought to himself, trying to justify his prejudice against the Head of Slytherin House.

"Why wouldn't he?" his own mind countered. "If my dad was always hexing him when they were at school, and I look _just like_ my dad...! I wouldn't feel like being nice to Malfoy's kid, either, if I were in _his_ shoes..."

Miserably, Harry dressed in his magically mended clothes, and gathered up his pyjamas, the remaining boxes of candy, and -- most precious to him -- the book of wizarding pictures of his parents from Hagrid. He looked at the first picture, the one of his parents holding him as a baby between them, and tried to imagine the kind-eyed man that was his father casting a hex on Snape. Suddenly, he didn't want to look at the pictures anymore. But he knew that there was even more reason to see Snape now, than when he'd first asked Madam Pomfrey to release him early from the hospital ward.

* * *

Harry stood with great trepidation in front of the door to Snape's office. He knew what he had to say, but wasn't sure he had the courage to say it.

"But I'm supposed to be a Gryffindor! I _have_ to be brave!" he told himself. "Besides, after facing Voldemort face-to-face... maybe Snape -- _Professor_ Snape -- won't be so bad..."

He realised that he was deluding no one, least of all himself, with that last statement. He sighed, then took a deep breath, and knocked on the door before he could stop himself.

"Enter," came the familiar voice from within. Harry pushed the door open, slipping in quietly to stand just inside it.

Apparently Snape was packing for the summer holidays, for he had several books in his hands and a small carpet bag on his desk, which he was peering into at the moment Harry walked in. When he looked up and saw who his visitor was, however, he froze as though Petrified.

"Potter," he finally said, so surprised that he forgot to pronounce it with the usual sneer.

"Professor Snape," Harry began, feeling his mouth go dry. He swallowed hard and continued, "I--I've come to--to thank you, for s--saving my life, and... and to... apologize."

The jet-black eyes were staring so intently at him that he couldn't think of anything more to say. After a moment in which time seemed to stand still, the older man's lips moved.

"What... did you say?" he asked, in no more than a whisper.

Harry tried to take a deep breath, and found that his heart had moved up into his throat, preventing much air from getting in.

"I... I wanted t--to thank you," he managed. The words started to flow quickly once he began. "You... You were saying the countercurse! Quirrell said... he was trying to curse me, and we thought it was you, so Hermione set your robe on fire -- I'm sorry about your robe -- but you were trying to save me all along! I'm sorry, we just assumed... you were so mean to me in class, we thought you were trying to hurt me, and steal the Philosopher's Stone, too, even though you were trying to protect it! Quirrell said that's how you got bit by Fluffy, on the leg. I'm sorry, I just thought you'd tried to steal it when the troll got in, but Quirrell said _he'd_ let the troll in as a diversion, not you..."

Harry realised that he was rambling, and stopped as suddenly as he'd begun.

Snape, who had been listening intently with his hands stopped in mid-air, slowly set the books down on the desk, taking his time as though gathering his thoughts.

"Well," he said, straightening himself to his full height, "you have certainly made some... erroneous assumptions."

Harry almost expected him to mete out a detention or two, but the Potions Master quietly continued his assessment.

"You took what little evidence you had and came up with a completely... _inaccurate_ theory. I'm surprised that you were able to get to the Stone at all!" he said, with a shade of his usual rancor.

"However," he continued, "perhaps... I might have contributed to your... false impressions. You think that I was... _unfair_, to you, in class?"

He arched one eyebrow as he asked this, forcing Harry to remember the words he had spoken in haste and to wish there were some magic that could un-say them.

"Well, I--I..." he stammered. Snape cut him off.

"In that, alone, you may have been right," he snapped. "I have no tolerance for those who do not respect the art -- and it is an exact and _precise_ art -- of potion-making. And you, by your own admission, are not... accurate."

Harry nodded, feeling a sense of impending doom. The professor's dark eyes continued to bore into his green ones, and it was not for the first time that Harry wondered if the older wizard could read minds.

"Next term," Snape continued, in more his usual classroom tone, "I will expect you to do much better at _paying attention_ in class, and following the directions _precisely_!" He took a breath and, for the first time, averted his eyes. "Perhaps, if I can detect a significant improvement... or, shall we say, at least an _effort_, on your part, to improve... I daresay, my attitude towards you -- _and_ your fellow Gryffindors -- may... _perhaps_... become more... lenient."

He returned his gaze on Harry, as though in challenge, but found to his surprise that Harry looked significantly relieved.

"I--I'll try, sir!" he promised. "I can't honestly say that I _like_ Potions, but... I'll do my best! And maybe, if Hermione will help me more with my homework, I can get better," he added. "I _do_ want to do well, really, it's just... well..."

He looked up, hesitantly, at Snape, who was gazing at him with an unfathomable expression. It was not his usual one of loathing, though, which gave Harry the courage to say what he truly wanted to.

"It's just that, you can be... a--a little _intimidating_, sometimes... sir. And I think... actually I'm sure, that both Neville and I would do much better in class, if you didn't... well, if you didn't _scowl_ at us so often. I don't think anybody can do their best when they're... nervous."

He substituted that word for "frightened" at the last moment, not wanting to sound weak, but was surprised when Snape did not scowl at him immediately.

"I see..." Snape replied, his voice betraying no emotion. "But what if it becomes necessary to... 'do your best,' as you say, when you are... _extremely_ nervous?" he countered. "What about, say, in the presence of the Dark Lord?"

Harry started in shock that Snape would bring up such a topic. His thoughts flew immediately to the image, fresh in his mind, of the horrible face that had leered at him from the back of Quirrell's head, and he shuddered. He looked up to see that Snape had come around his desk to stand, towering, before him.

"You have looked upon the face of the Dark Lord," Snape stated, calmly. "And he is only a shadow of his former self. What, then, if he returns to his full powers? Will you plead that you cannot fight him, for the mere reason that you are _nervous_?! What if he... _scowls_ at you?!"

There was some contempt in his tone again, but Harry realised the truth in his words.

"You're right," he admitted, soberly. "If I fight Voldemort again, I'll _have_ to be able to think clearly and use my magic, even if I'm scared to death -- or he'll kill me."

Harry looked up at Snape, who had been observing his response carefully.

"Sir... Professor Dumbledore wouldn't tell me why Voldemort tried to kill me, when he killed my mum and dad..."

Snape, who had not flinched at the forbidden name, did flinch at the mention of Harry's parents.

"If the Headmaster does not see fit to inform you of the Dark Lord's reasons, then neither do I," he answered, coldly.

"Yes, but..." Harry tried to explain what he wanted to know. "If Voldemort tried to kill me then, he'll try to kill me again, won't he? I mean, whatever his reasons were, they can't have changed that easily, right? And I think, he was trying to kill me again, with Quirrell. He must hate me even more, now that I kept him from getting the Philosopher's Stone! So..."

He swallowed, then looked Snape directly in the eyes.

"So, I'll **have** to fight him again, won't I?"

Snape gazed at him a moment before answering, very abruptly, "Yes."

Harry nodded, slowly, and more wearily than a child his age ought to feel.

"I... I thought so. Thank you... for being honest with me. And... I guess... if I'm going to be a _real_ Gryffindor, I should get over any... nervousness. I need to learn how to... overcome it."

The last sentence had been spoken softly, almost to himself, but Snape did not miss it.

"I have seen the Dark Lord at the height of his power," he informed Harry. "Compared to that, I can hardly imagine why anybody -- even Longbottom -- should consider me... _intimidating_."

Harry looked up at him thoughtfully. "Yes, but... I wouldn't recommend sending Neville to meet Voldemort. Not yet, anyway..."

Snape snorted, as though he found that thought amusing, and Harry suddenly grinned. As much as he liked his fellow Gryffindor, the picture of Neville standing before Voldemort -- even in his emaciated form -- was absurd to the point of being comical.

"Maybe he could throw a melting cauldron at Voldemort!" he laughed, and was even more shocked when a barking sound, suspiciously like a laugh, erupted from Snape's mouth.

"He's created enough of those, and to spare!" he gasped. "I have never seen a child so inept at potions, in all my years of teaching! And _that_ is saying something!"

After so much tension, laughter was a welcome release, and Harry laughed long. When he finally settled down, he saw that Snape had not laughed with him, but had been watching him, with that same, unfathomable expression, only it was now mixed with something akin to... hunger?

"Well, then, Potter," he said, briskly walking back to the other side of the desk and picking up the books he had set down. "Was that all?"

The last bit of laughter caught in Harry's throat.

"No," he said, wondering if Snape's good humour had been something of a hallucination. "I... I was talking to Madam Pomfrey... She said that... my dad... when you were kids... used to hex you."

He almost hoped that Snape would deny it, but knew, before the man opened his mouth, that he would not.

"What of it?" he retorted, his tone sharp, as he nearly shoved his books into the carpet bag.

"I... I just wanted to say... I'm sorry for that... sir." Harry swallowed. "It makes it that much more... generous, that you saved my life. And... And I wanted you to know... how much I appreciate that."

Snape's hands stopped in mid-air again. However, he did not look at Harry when he commented, "Duly noted. Is that all?"

"Sir," Harry began, desperation possessing him. "Professor Dumbledore said... that you wanted to... to settle a score, make things even, for my dad once saving your life, by saving mine. Is that true? What happened? He said you... you didn't like each other, but I... I want to know, what my dad was like, even the _bad_ stuff!"

He leaned into the desk, trying to catch Snape's eye.

"I--I never even **met** him!"

The plea came out more plaintive than Harry would have liked, but it succeeded in grabbing Snape's attention. His head snapped up and his dark gaze became fixed upon Harry again.

"Potter, if you're hoping that I would tell you that your father was a saint, or a hero, or some such nonsense, you are gravely mistaken."

The Potions Master's voice was as cold as ice. Harry dropped his eyes to the desk, dejected.

"However," the voice continued over him, in a somewhat less frigid tone,"I can tell you this: that your father was as gifted a wizard as has ever walked these halls. How he chose to use his gifts, sadly, is not something I would have you emulate. But lest you should think that you have inherited your dislike of Potions from either of your parents, I must inform you that they both _excelled_ in the subject -- your mother most of all."

"My mum?!" slipped from Harry's lips, quicker than thought. "You knew my **mum?!**"

"Of course," Snape replied, in an oddly soft tone. He coughed lightly. "We were all in the same year, here at Hogwarts."

"Oh!" was all that Harry said, but his mind was filled with so many questions that he simply couldn't decide which he should ask first. After a breathless pause, he chose on the most comprehensive: "Please, what was she like?!"

Snape turned to look out of his window, leaving Harry with only a view of his back.

"She was... well, one of the most powerful witches I have ever known," he said. He had intended to say it in a detached manner, but his voice -- even his features -- had perceptibly softened as he spoke of her. Harry leaned forward eagerly, anxious not to miss a single word.

"She was exceptionally talented at Potions, as I said... We often collaborated on our homework, and were successful in creating several new potions, I might add... And she was... well, compared to your father, she _was_ a saint!"

Harry's eyes had never grown so large in his life -- not even when Hagrid had told him that he was a wizard!

"You... You actually _liked_ her?!" he asked, incredulously.

"_Every_body liked Lily Evans," Snape retorted sharply, as though Harry was a dunderhead who had just given him the wrong answer in class. "She was... the embodiment of all that is amiable, noble, and good."

If Harry had been shocked before, his astonishment now knew no bounds. His jaw dropped open as he gaped at Snape, dumbfounded. Snape, however, did not notice; he was wandering through his memories.

"She was Muggle-born, you realize, but once she discovered her powers, she showed great skill in mastering them. Sorted into Gryffindor, like your father," he paused. "And for courage, none was more qualified! But you should have inferred this, from the fact that she sacrificed herself -- fighting the Dark Lord, no less! -- in an attempt to save you. Her power, transferred to your person, is the only thing in all of wizarding history that has **ever** repelled the Killing Curse. That alone, Potter, should tell you volumes about your mother!"

He turned to face the boy, and saw him staring at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

"With so much talent in your blood, I _refuse_ to accept the work you have submitted this year as the best you can do!" Snape thundered, suddenly furious. "You owe it to her, Potter, to excel in _all_ of your subjects, regardless of your likes and dislikes! Quidditch, of course, comes naturally to you -- that is your father's heritage. He was also, I'll admit, an excellent student in Transfiguration. McGonagall can tell you as much! Lily passed Transfiguration with honors, and was always the top of our year in Herbology as well as Care of Magical Creatures. Charms we all shared top marks -- your father, his friends, and Lily and I. Arithmancy came easily to her; Ancient Runes she learned by heart, and could translate any given page as quickly as the teacher! She did not elect to study Divination, but if she had chosen to, I've no doubt that she would have excelled in that as well!"

Snape took a moment to catch his breath.

"So you see, Potter, there is really no excuse for you to _not_ excel at _any_ subject!"

Harry nodded, amazed and speechless.

"I would have you realize," Snape said, quietly but very distinctly, "that your studies here are not a matter of convenience -- not for _you!_ Do you understand? If you are to face the Dark Lord again -- and I've no doubt you will -- you must apply yourself to learn all you can of magic! You must become more powerful than... than _Voldemort_ himself, if you are to defeat him! In order for you to **live!**"

Harry nodded again, his eyes luminous with the fierce pride stirred within him for his parents' achievements, and the grim knowledge that his fate rested in how well he mastered the skills taught at Hogwarts. There was determination in his face, too, and -- Snape noted -- gratitude.

"I see that, now," he told his teacher. "And I _will_ try -- I **have** to! I... I have to live... for my parents. For what they did for me."

Satisfied, Snape nodded.

The clock on his shelf chimed, and he looked up with a start.

"We must go to the feast!" he announced, mildly annoyed. Harry turned to leave, still mulling over what the Potions Master had just told him.

"Potter," Snape called to him, and he stopped and turned around.

"You asked me... what had happened, when your father... 'saved my life,'" he said, not hiding his distaste. "I cannot tell you of that, due to... well, Dumbledore has sworn me to secrecy on that matter, for various reasons. However, I _will_ say this: I do not consider your father's act worthy of repayment, since he only saved me to save his own neck. The reason that I saved **your** life, and will continue to do so, is the memory of your mother. She was a... a dear friend. And I can do no less than honour her dying wish -- for you to live!"

As if drawn by some magical force, Harry found himself pulled irresistably back to Snape's desk.

"Sir," he croaked, his throat quite dry, "would you... do you think..." He gulped. "Would you mind... if I asked you, about my mum... when I come back, next year?"

Snape's expression was inscrutable again, as he answered, "Perhaps. If you improve your performance in your schoolwork, I would be... more inclined to do so." He paused, and added in a much milder tone, "Let that be your motivation, as well."

Harry nodded, his eyes still wide at what seemed his unbelievably good fortune. Just as he reached the door, he turned to look back at the older wizard, who had stood to follow him out.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, the sincerity evident in his face.

"Very well, then," Snape replied. "We should not be late for the feast."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A big **thank you** to all the reviewers, especially those who asked for more! I may not update this story very often, but I hope I don't disappoint you in quality.

* * *

Harry groaned inwardly as Neville's potion turned a deep magenta, when it was supposed to be a brilliant lime green by now. He listened as Snape inflicted his bumbling classmate with a tirade of abuse, in addition to yet another detention.

Harry had gotten off to a bad start this school year with the whole fiasco of flying Mr. Weasley's car into the Whomping Willow, and although both he and Ron had explained that they could not get onto Platform 9¾, when Dumbledore sent an owl of inquiry to the platform manager, he reported back that all the barriers were working normally (for wizards and witches, anyway), so Snape seemed to have settled on the belief that it had been a lie, to cover for their inexcusable desire to arrive at school in the ancient Ford Anglia. Any chances Harry had of asking the Potions Master about his mother, at this point, seemed dim.

His chances grew dimmer still when Ron slipped in the Leola roots without slicing them, before Harry could stop him. They both groaned as their potion turned a muddy brown.

"You were supposed to cut them _thin_," Harry whispered furiously.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, looking dejected. He knew how much it meant to Harry to do well in Potions, since Harry had told him and Hermione about his conversation with Snape at the end of last term, but there was no way to correct their mistake now.

Harry sighed as he remembered Snape's comment on his own lack of precision, and stared at the muddy mixture (which was now beginning to turn pink) and prepared for the professor's verbal onslaught. However, Snape was still praising Draco Malfoy on the beautiful condition of _his_ potion, which was an almost fluorescent green, and had not yet seen the sorry state of Harry and Ron's.

"But of course, Professor," Malfoy was smirking. "I _had_ to get this perfect, since it's my house color!"

Feeling sick to his stomach, Harry looked back at the muddy pink potion roiling in the cauldron in front of him. It was almost a dirty flesh tone, and just at that moment, two large bubbles formed on the surface and popped. It reminded him of Dobby, the crazed house-elf who had started the whole chain of events that had made Harry's miserable existence go from bad to worse.

"First he showed up and got me into trouble with the Dursleys. Then Ron had to come rescue me, and when we couldn't get onto the Platform, we had to take the flying car to school, and ended up in the stupid Whomping Willow, and almost got expelled!" Harry thought, trying to blame everything on Dobby. Suddenly, a new thought occurred to him -- since Dobby had not wanted him to go to Hogwarts this year, **he** must have blocked the way to the Platform!

"It was **Dobby!!**" Harry exclaimed, turning to Ron. He had forgotten all about being in Potions class.

"What?!?" Ron asked, confused.

Suddenly, before Harry could explain his outburst, they both noticed a tall, dark shadow looming over them, exuding ire.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, for _not paying attention_ in class!" Snape hissed. "And ten more for this _pathetic_ excuse for a Disgorging Potion!"

He made the potion vanish with a flick of his wand, and cast a scathing glance on Harry once more.

"Detention. My office. Tonight!" he barked, then turned on his heel.

Harry bit his lip, for he had been close to protesting that _he_ hadn't put in the Leola roots, but had remembered in the nick of time that he could only blame his best friend, and held his tongue. He noticed, though, that Malfoy was staring at him in the strangest way, and not even taunting him for getting a simple potion wrong. Before he had a chance to mention it to Ron, however, class was over, and Malfoy made a beeline to Harry.

"What were you yelling in your _pathetic_, demented ravings?!?" he demanded, his face even paler than usual.

"What's it to you?!?" Ron snapped, already irritated by his own mistake and ready to pick a fight, with or without a reason.

"It's none of your business," Harry also retorted, noticing a vein in Malfoy's temple that stood out, throbbing, in contrast to his white skin, which reminded him of his uncle.

"We'll just see about that!" Malfoy seethed. "What were you saying about a 'Dobby'?!?"

In that instant, Harry remembered what the twins, Fred and George, had said about house-elves: that they usually belonged to wealthy wizarding families that lived in mansions or castles. It had occurred to him then that Dobby might belong to the Malfoys -- now, since Malfoy had just confronted him about the name, he had positively _proven_ it!

"'Dobby'? What's a 'dobby'?" Harry asked, thinking quickly and feigning innocence. "I said 'Bobby,' as in a police officer."

Catching what Harry was doing, Hermione joined the fray.

"What's a 'dobby,' anyway?" she asked, looking for all the world like she didn't know, and was simply curious. "Is it some kind of potion ingredient?"

Malfoy scowled and muttered something rude under his breath, which was inaudible to Harry and his friends, before stalking off with his Slytherin cronies in his wake. As Harry hurriedly gathered his things, Ron whispered in excitement.

"Harry! That house-elf must be _Malfoy's_ house-elf! He might as well have come out and said it!"

"Yeah, and I think it was Dobby that blocked the barrier to the platform!" Harry added. They looked up as, for the second time that day, a shadow was cast over them.

"And just _what_ are you two going on about?" Snape said, enunciating each word slowly and menacingly. Last term, it might have unnerved Harry completely, but having found out that his least favorite professor had saved his life, and had also been a friend of his mother's, made him pluck up enough courage to say what was on his mind.

"The platform barrier -- it was Dobby, the house-elf, that kept us from getting through!" Harry explained in a hurry. "He came to see me at the Dursleys, and told me not to go to Hogwarts this year -- something about mortal danger -- and got me into trouble so my uncle locked me up. If Ron hadn't come after me, I would still be stuck there! Then the platform barrier wouldn't let us through -- it had to be Dobby again!"

Seeing that Snape had actually listened to him without interrupting, Ron plunged in, too.

"And just now, Malfoy came up and asked Harry what he was saying about Dobby! He as good as admitted that the house-elf was _his!_"

Snape's forehead became creased with lines as he scowled and contemplated the three of them for a moment. When he spoke, it was in a low, almost conspiratorial tone, and he glanced once towards the doorway to make sure that nobody else was within earshot.

"If what you are saying is true -- and I'm not yet convinced that it _is_ -- that would be a grave accusation to make of a... highly-regarded wizarding family. Or rather, of their house-elf, but of course house-elves cannot act of their own volition; they must obey their masters at all times. However," he continued, preventing Harry from interrupting, "if a house-elf had, indeed, blocked your way through the barrier, it _is_ possible that the platform manager did not find traces of the magic, since house-elves use a different kind of magic than we. And, naturally, he would not be looking for it. I can ask the Headmaster to send another owl to confirm the matter, one way or another..."

He seemed to become lost in his thoughts for a moment, and Harry finally had the chance to tell him what he had tried to before.

"But Dobby said he _wasn't_ doing it on his master's orders -- and he had to keep punishing himself every time he said something to me!"

"Did he, now?" Snape said, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

"Yes, he kept banging his head on the furniture," Harry insisted.

"It makes perfect sense!" Hermione blurted out. "I can see how the Malfoys might try to do something nasty to Harry, but then, they could have made Dobby do something much worse, and he could have gotten away with it -- especially if nobody suspected a house-elf was involved! So then, why would he bother showing himself to Harry? He could have done all sorts of mischief and nobody would have been the wiser. It's more likely that he _did_ come to prevent Harry from walking into a trap -- some _other_ nasty thing that the Malfoys have plotted for him!"

Snape's expression was inscrutable as he regarded each anxiously upturned face.

"Miss Granger, that again is a very _serious_ accusation to level at a long-standing wizarding family," he warned, with a slight hint of intimidation. "Ordinarily, I would give your ramblings and half-baked theories no consequence; however," he said, in a slightly different tone, "I happen to know, from personal experience, that the Malfoys do, in fact, own a house-elf by the name of 'Dobby.'"

* * *

As shocking as it had been to find out, for a fact, that Dobby was the Malfoys' house-elf, Harry found it even more amazing that Snape had confided that information with them. He had always assumed that as the head of Slytherin house, Snape would go to any lengths to protect Malfoy; thus he was having a hard time digesting that the man had divulged potentially damaging information on the Malfoys. However, Hermione pointed out that among the Malfoys' friends it might be common knowledge, to which Ron retorted that Harry was not one of their friends, and could hardly be expected to know it, let alone come up with that particular name by coincidence.

The upshot of it all was that Snape was now closer to believing Harry's story about being prevented from getting on the Hogwarts Express, and while it did nothing to negate the fact that he and Ron had acted rashly in taking the flying car, Harry was nonetheless relieved to get back into Snape's good graces -- or at least, out of his list of students he most wanted to poison.

He finished dinner and left early to go down to the dungeons, where Snape's office was. He wanted to show that he was trying to be a better student, and didn't want to blow his chances of hearing about his mother by being late and irking the particular professor.

"Hey, Harry! Wait up!"

He turned to find Neville trotting to catch up with him.

"I have detention with Snape, too," he said, somewhat out of breath.

"Oh, yeah," Harry remembered.

As they made their way down a narrow staircase, Neville sighed in utter gloom.

"I hope Professor Snape doesn't hang around watching us, whatever he makes us do!"

It was no secret that Neville was frightened out of his wits -- quite literally -- whenever he was in the forbidding Potions Master's presence, and Harry had even suggested to the man himself that if he took on a less intimidating demeanor, Neville's grades as well as his own might improve.

"Neville, you can't be scared of him forever!" Harry said, trying to hide his exasperation. "Besides, you're a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors are brave, right? And you were brave enough to stand up to us -- to _Hermione_ even -- last year! If you forget about being scared, and just do what you have to, I'm sure you'll be all right!"

Neville paused in the dark hallway.

"You really think so?"

"I **know** so!" Harry declared, with a certainty he did not feel. However, his words seemed to have their desired effect, as Neville straightened his shoulders and walked with less trepidation through the dungeon corridors.

"I guess, for you, after seeing... You-Know-Who," Neville began hesitantly, "Professor Snape must not seem scary at all, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that," he answered truthfully, "but I found out from Quirrell that he'd kept me alive, chanting the counter curse to Quirrell's curse, during that Quidditch game. _And_ he was a friend of my mum, back when they were students here."

Neville looked at him in surprise.

"Really?!?"

"Yeah. I talked to him, last term, just before we had to leave for the holidays," Harry told him. "He said he might tell me about my mum... what she was like, you know -- if I did better in Potions. But I guess I made a mess of it today..."

"Gee, Harry," Neville said slowly, "I'm sorry I messed up today, too, and got him in such a bad mood... I guess you're right -- I have to stop being afraid of him, and just concentrate on what I have to do! Maybe if I do better in class, he won't be so mad at me all the time..."

"Yeah, probably," Harry answered, hoping to encourage his dorm mate. "If we all try to do better, he might not scowl so often."

Neville nodded, his mouth set in determination.

"I'm sure gonna try! It'd be worth it, if he'd stop scowling at me!"

Harry knocked on the office door when they arrived, and after Snape said "Enter," they went in together. There was a small mountain of boxes, each filled with phials.

"These need to be taken to the Potions classroom and emptied, washed, and dried to be ready for use," Snape began without preamble. "Since their contents have expired, some may have... unpleasant effects," he added, with a smug look. "Also, some of them have become more powerful and dangerous as time has passed, so I will be overseeing your work to ensure that they are removed safely. Your task is to wash each of the phials thoroughly, so that no traces of their previous contents are remaining to taint the new potions placed in them."

Although this was bad news for Neville, as Snape would be with them the entire time, Harry had to respect the brave front he was presenting as he replied, with almost no trembling, "Yes, sir," in time with Harry.

* * *

As expected, the work was dirty, nasty, and exhausting, but Harry felt they had gotten through the evening relatively well. Neville had broken one of the phials, when he spilled a drop of its contents onto his finger and it swelled and turned a putrid brown, but Snape was able to repair both the glass and Neville's finger after only a muttered remonstrance about dunderheads.

"I'm glad I only broke _one_ of them," Neville sighed to Harry, while Snape was putting the boxes away in the storage cupboard. Harry nodded, wanting nothing so much as to escape the dungeons and go to bed, but not daring to leave before Snape formally dismissed them.

"You were right, you know," Neville continued. "I just tried to focus on what I was doing, and not look at him, and I was okay. Well, better than I usually am, anyway..." Neville looked at Harry shyly. "I tried to think about your parents, too, because... I know what it's like to... to not know your mum and dad," he slowly confessed. "So I really wanted to... not mess up, for your sake."

"For me?" Harry asked, surprised and touched.

"Well, yeah!" Neville blushed. "You've been a good friend, Harry, and I'm proud you're in my house! Or rather, I'm glad _I_ managed to get into Gryffindor -- it must've been a sure bet for you!"

Harry paused a moment, then decided to tell Neville something he had been too ashamed to tell even Ron, his best friend -- not just to encourage Neville, but also as a way of thanking him for putting forth extra effort on his behalf.

"Actually, I almost didn't make it," he admitted. "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I begged it to put me somewhere else."

They heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked up in time to see the most peculiar expression on Snape's face. It was quickly replaced by his customary scowl.

"**What** did you just say, Potter?!?" he demanded, as though accusing him of a falsehood.

"It's true!" Harry replied defensively. "The Hat said I could do great things in Slytherin, but I kept asking it to put me anywhere but there--" He gulped, realising too late that Snape would probably take that as an insult. "And it finally put me in Gryffindor," he ended weakly.

There was an odd, faraway look in Snape's eyes, which were fixed on Harry yet seemed to be turned inward, searching the depths of his mind -- for what, neither boy would have hazarded to guess.

"Well, then, I suppose you are wanting to return to your precious Gryffindor Tower," Snape said after a moment, with a sneer. "However, I must have a word with you on another matter. Longbottom, you may go."

After casting an apologetic glance at Harry, Neville left as quickly as if he were being chased by the Bloody Baron.

"Now, Potter," Snape began, leaning back against a desk and crossing his arms. "I was asked by the Headmaster to inform you that he has contacted the platform manager again, and that there were, indeed, traces of house-elf magic. In fact, all of the barriers seem to have been tampered with."

It did not matter that Snape bit out those words with obvious distaste, or that his large nose curled as though there were something particularly odious nearby. Harry grinned in relief.

"I thought so! I mean, it just _couldn't_ have been a coincidence that Dobby warned me to stay home, then the barrier wouldn't let me through to the train!"

"For once, your deduction seems to be... accurate," Snape begrudgingly granted. "However, it does not shed any light on the _cause_ -- that is, to what purpose the house-elf was trying to prevent your presence here at Hogwarts." He looked directly into Harry's green eyes, as though he could read the answer there. "What, exactly, did it tell you?"

Harry tried to recount the whole incident with Dobby, but being tired, he soon became bogged down in the details of the Dursleys and the violet pudding, backtracking to explain certain Muggle customs and muddying the main thrust of Dobby's message.

"Enough!" Snape interrupted after a minute or two. "There is a much quicker way to get to the bottom of this than to have you bore me with minutiae! If you agree to it, I will use Legilimency to see what you have seen, and sift through the rubble of your mind for the pertinent facts."

Startled, Harry stared at him a moment; then, feeling extremely foolish (and wishing that Hermione were there), asked, "What is 'Li-jelly-mency'?"

Snape stood up abruptly in annoyance. "Legilimency," he pronounced clearly, "is the art of delving into another's mind to see the images of their memories. If you do not resist me, it will be a quick and painless way to show me _exactly_ what happened -- in fact, since I will be viewing the events with my own mind, I may even notice things that you have overlooked. I will most certainly be able to interpret them with better acuity."

"So you **can** read minds!" Harry blurted out.

"Potter," Snape sighed in exasperation, "A mind is a complex thing -- at least in most cases. One does not simply 'read' another's mind as though it were a book. It takes years of practise, and... far too much training to explain to you now," he gave up with another sigh. "Suffice it to say, I am accomplished in the art, and will not harm you in viewing your memories. However, it will facilitate the process if you try to focus on what you saw and heard when the house-elf visited you."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, dubiously, then finally nodded, persuading himself that it would be worth it to have Snape convinced that he was telling the truth.

"Very well, then. Sit there, and look at me. Try to think back to your first encounter with the house-elf," Snape said, then pointed his wand and murmured, _"Legilimens!"_

* * *

Harry thought that the process was very similar to the VCR his cousin Dudley used to record his favorite shows. He replayed the events involving Dobby, and Snape seemed to mentally nudge him to go through the dull parts quickly, just like Dudley fast forwarded through commercials. Snape did not leave off with just Dobby, though, and went through their ride in the flying car, as well as the harrowing landing in the Whomping Willow. He finally ended it at the point where he himself had greeted Harry and Ron.

Harry rubbed his forehead, feeling a dullness permeating his brain.

"The after-effects will wear off shortly," Snape said, carefully watching his reaction. "You should turn in for the night as soon as you return to your room. I will report what I have seen to the Headmaster. If the house-elf's information is accurate, there may be some cause for concern..." He stood, waiting for Harry to get up also. "I will walk you to your dorm. You should avoid being alone, at least until we find out what threat the house-elf was referring to."

Harry nodded, feeling the dullness gradually dissipating. They didn't speak during their walk to Gryffindor Tower, since Snape seemed deep in thought, but in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry looked up at him and uttered two simple words:

"Thank you."

With a curt nod and a swirl of his robes, Snape left to go to Dumbledore's office. Exhausted, Harry gratefully went straight up to bed.

* * *


End file.
